Let the Day Begin

Coffee is long since drunk, "Let the Day Begin" by The Call on Spotify. Another day, another (non-) workweek begins. Yesterday was a holiday so I don't count it. Today Dave is back to work, and in wall-to-wall meetings. I chortle happily and head off to the fiber studio/office/she-cave to get on with MY day. Outside the wall of windows in front of me the sun is shining and the air is still. In the pause between songs, I hear the birds chirping, and my heart cannot help but to lift, to soar. No matter what the future brings, this moment is perfect. My mind races with all the possibilities for the day. A few of the most attractive ones are:

• make biscotti
• order sausage casings and peruse recipes for exotic sausage
• reorganize the freezer so types and cuts of meat can be better organized (and three-year-old riced cauliflower can be humanely disposed of)
• piece Patrick's quilt
• fill frit orders from my Etsy shop
• chat with distant friends
• do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight!

Of course, even in the perfect life, there are the petty annoyances like helping the child cancel the gym membership she forgot to take care of before heading off to school (I have to do it in person), and pay bills. But in the minor scheme of life (much less the grand scheme), these things are so tiny that they won't even make me twitch. 

I may even make croissants! Never before have I had the time to really focus on making them, and now I want to master them. To help me out, a present from Dave arrived yesterday--a 16" x 20" marble slab for rolling pastry--and it's already in the freezer! Also yesterday, I mastered pie crust. Seriously! I think I posted this once before, but it bears repeating now: In seventh grade we all had to give presentations showing how to do something. I made a pie crust. For all of my life up until now I used my grandmother's recipe (oil--not butter or lard--and ice water) and method (rolling it out between sheets of waxed paper).  While others moaned and lamented the difficulty of pie crust, I smugly basked in my superiority. The crust was good in a lean way (my grandmother had MS and controlled it by strictly limiting animal fat), but when I shared it with Dave early in our marriage, he was not impressed. And years (decades) passed.

Then Dave introduced me (literarily, not literally) to Stella Parks and her book BraveTart: Iconic American Desserts, and my perception of pie crust changed forever. Her piecrust recipe--which uses butter, a laminating technique similar to the one used for croissants, and abundant flour--is a game changer. The first couple of times I made it it was good. Or at least, it was okay. It wasn't stellar (get it? Stellar? I crack myself up), and I attribute that to two things: 1) I didn't follow the recipe exactly (right down to the size of the butter cubes), and 2) I didn't give all of my attention and focus to the texture of the dough--both in terms of what I wanted it to be and what it was. Pastry is precise. You don't throw things in, and taste, and modify, and expect to create something perfect every time. 

Sunday I made two crusts (I meant to make one, but I accidentally doubled the water needed so I made two), and I was precise (in spite of the water snafu). I kept the butter big. I didn't overwork or soften it in the mixing, and I folded the crust just so before chilling it and rolling it out. Dave made her Frankie's coconut creme pie recipe (also from BraveTart) and a bacon and cheese quiche with them yesterday. The remains of the pie are shown above. No, we didn't eat it all! We gave half to Zaga and Dan. I haven't tried the quiche yet, but will have it for lunch today. The crust was no kidding the best I have ever had anywhere. Crispy, layered, buttery, salty, a hint sweet, light, flaky... you get the idea.

All this talk of food has made me hungry. Good thing I start every morning with a 30 minute walk!